


Bruce Banner and The Olympians: The Lightning Thief

by Ollieollieupandfree (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Bruce Banner taking on the role of Percy Jackson, Bucky Barnes taking on the role of Clarisse La Rue, Clint Barton taking on the role of Grover Underwood, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, I'll tag this later - Freeform, Loki taking on the role of Luke, Percy Jackson AU, Tony Stark taking on the role of Annabeth Chase, You don't have to have read Percy Jackson to get this, You probably should be familiar with Marvel in some way, but it'll probably help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 20:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Ollieollieupandfree
Summary: Bruce Banner is a regular boy. At least, he thinks he is. But when his mom is kidnapped by the God of the Underworld, Bruce is thrust into a new world of Greek Mythology and finds out that his own father, a man that had abandoned him and his mother at birth, is the Greek god Poseidon.Suddenly, aided by Tony Stark, the mysterious son of Athena, and Clint Barton, Bruce's best friend and a satyr sent to protect Bruce, Bruce must go on a quest to find his mother and return Zeus' Master Bolt before the Summer Solstice.To survive, Bruce must work together with his new friends to fight gods, monsters, mortals, and journey to the Underworld to find the Lightning Thief and save the world.





	1. I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher

**Author's Note:**

> So. Hi. Instead of doing what I actually should be doing (working on existing fics) I am starting this because Infinity War is going to make me cry. I know it is. I just know.
> 
> Just so you know, this will follow the plot of the Percy Jackson books with a couple of changes becaUSE I CAN. I'm changing Tony and Bruce's eye colors to grey and sea green respectively, just because the eyes are a way to tell whose child a demigod is and also because I want to and if you don't like it write your own damn fic.
> 
> Tony's arc reactor is still a thing. However! I am changing it so that it was not something Tony made himself, but rather something that was a gift from Athena after he was born with heart problems. Sort of like Annabeth's Yankees cap. I am aware that the cap stops working later in the series, that will be addressed. Don't worry your pretty little heads.
> 
> As always, hmu on Tumblr @i-have-a-high-ph-but-ur-a-bitch

#  Chapter One: I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher

 

Listen. I didn’t want to be a half-blood. Being a half-blood isn’t fun. A lot of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways. It isn’t fun, it’s dangerous, and tragic. If you’re reading this because you think you might be a half-blood, don’t. The more you know about yourself, the easier it is for them to find you. You don’t want them to find you. If you’re reading this because you think it’s fiction, great! Read on! But I’m only going to tell you this once, if this book awakens something in you, if you feel something in yourself stirring, close the book. Close it and put it in the trash can and never open it again. Head to Long Island Sound, you’ll find your way there soon enough. They’ll be coming for you. Be prepared for when they arrive.

 

It all started on a field trip with my school. I go to Yancy Academy, a boarding school for problem kids. Am I a problem kid? Yeah, you could say that. A lot of people do. The thing about Yancy, is that it doesn’t help kids adjust, it just gets us out of our parent’s hair. Yancy is mostly filled with rich kids who think they’re above the rules. And, with the amount of money they have, they kind of are.

 

Surprisingly, Yancy is my only school this year, but the sixth as a whole. I have what counselors tend to call anger issues. Mom says its an understatement, I say it’s a quirk. One I would get rid of if I could, but a quirk nonetheless. It’s not always my fault that I get kicked out of all these schools, weird things tend to happen around me. Like when I was a baby this snake got into the nursery during nap time. The teachers didn’t notice until my mom came to pick me up and found me playing with a dead snake I had strangled.

 

When I was in the third grade, this large man followed me around on the playground. He didn’t leave until the teachers threatened to call the police, and nobody believed me when I said that he only had one eye. There was also that time that I accidentally pulled the wrong lever during a field trip, or that time at the Saratoga Battle Field where I accidentally shot a cannon ball at the bus. I swear, I didn’t know it was loaded. The fact that I didn’t like the bus driver had nothing to do with it.

 

The point is, weird things happen around me.

 

Mrs. Dodds is our pre-algebra teacher, and for some reason she came with us to the museum with Mr. Brunner to see an exhibit on ancient Greek art and history. I don’t know why, since Mr. Brunner is the Latin teacher, but he’s cool. Mrs. Dodds is not. She wears a leather jacket all the time, and reminds me of some kind of bat. I think she might literally be from hell. She doesn’t like me, which is understandable. But she does like this girl in my class, Nancy Bobofit.

 

Nancy Bobofit is a rich brat with bright red curls and freckles that look like cheeto powder and crooked teeth. Nancy Bobofit terrorized me the entire time I was at Yancy Academy. And usually I wouldn’t have been too bothered, but she liked to throw food at my best friend, Clint. These weird ketchup and peanut butter sandwiches that stuck in his hair. Clint is small for his age, for all of our ages actually, except he’s already got this weird goatee. I keep telling him to shave it, but he says it looks cool. Clint’s permanately excused from gym class because there’s something wrong with his legs. He has to use crutches and he usually avoids conflict, but you should see him run when it’s enchilada day in the cafeteria.

 

I started to stand up in the bus when Nancy Bobofit kept throwing stuff at Clint, but he pulled me down by the arm and shot a nervous look at Mrs. Dodds.

 

“Don’t,” he said, “She’s not worth another detention.”

 

“Fine.” I’m always reluctant to stand down when Clint tells me to. It’s not that I don’t trust him, it’s that he’s so defenseless. I swear, he wouldn’t be able to survive without me there.

  
  


The museum is kind of interesting. I really like Mr. Brunner’s class, even if it is hard for me. With both ADHD and Dyslexia, focusing can be hard and focusing on other languages can be even harder. Mr. Brunner seems to expect more from me for some reason. As if I should just automatically know everything he tells us. Mr. Brunner was telling us about one of the vases, but behind me Nancy Bobofit kept whispering with her friends. It was really annoying, especially since all of this was pretty interesting. I’m more of a science guy myself, but I could get behind all this.

 

“And who was Kronos?” Mr. Brunner asked, looking around at the class. His eyes fell on me, “Mr. Banner?” There’s something about the way Mr. Brunner says my name, as if he’s expecting the best of me. Most of the time, teachers already sound disappointed when they pick me.

 

“He was the king of the gods, yea?”

 

“Gods?” Mr. Brunner questions.

 

“Titans,” I correct myself, “And he was the dad of, uh, Zeus and Hades and Poseidon, right?”

 

“Go on,” Mr. Brunner prompted.

 

“Yeah, and he ate all of them.”

 

“All of them?”

 

“No. Just, uh, Poseidon and Hades, but then his wife fed him a rock instead of Zeus.” I wanted to continue, but I couldn’t remember the rest.

 

“Indeed,” Mr. Brunner said, “Kronos ate his children, knowing they were stronger than he was. However, Rhea fed Kronos a stone instead of the infant Zeus and hid the infant away for years. When Zeus was strong enough, he fed Kronos a collection of herbs that made him throw up Zeus’ brothers and sisters.”

 

“Ewwww!” Nancy Bobofit whispered behind me.

 

I turned around and glared at her, “Shut up!” I hissed. Mrs. Dodds glared at me. Apparently I was louder than I thought.

 

“Sorry,” I said. Mr. Brunner nodded.

 

“And so Zeus slew his father with his own sickle and locked all the titans in Tartarus.” Clint shivered, and maybe he was just cold but I could’ve sworn I saw fear in his eyes. Why he would be scared of an old legend, I didn’t know.

 

“Why do we have to know this? It’s not like it’s going to ask How did Zeus kill his father? on our resumes,” Nancy spat.

 

“A good question, Miss Bobofit. Mister Banner, can you tell me why history is important?” Mr. Brunner asked.

 

“I don’t know,” I answered. Mr. Brunner looked disappointed in me.

 

“You will.” He said, “One day, you will.” He looked sad, and far older than he should. Suddenly he wheeled his chair around and grinned.

 

“And with that, children,” Mr. Brunner said, “It is time for lunch.”

  
  


Clint and I sat at the fountain in front of the museum, as far as we could get from the others without getting into trouble. We thought that if we sat far enough away then passerby wouldn’t think we were with them. I was kind of angry.

 

“It’s like he expects more of me than anyone else!” I exclaimed, “How am I supposed to know all of this!?” 

 

“Calm down, Bruce. I’m sure it’s not for any specific reason,” Clint answered.

 

“I know, but it’s like he thinks I’m some genius or something. How am I supposed to know this stuff!?” Clint looked down into the distance, thoughtful. He opened his mouth and I thought he was going to say something philosophical. Instead he said,

 

“Can I have your apple?”

 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure,” I responded, handing Clint the fruit.  I watched all the cabs’ coming and going and thought of my mom’s apartment. Not far away, just a bit uptown from here. I hadn’t seen her since Christmas, and I really wanted to hop a cab and go. But I knew she’d be disappointed and just send me right back here. I couldn’t stand the look she’d probably give me.

 

Mr. Brunner sat a ways away, reading a paperback intently and drumming a pen against the armrest of his chair. 

 

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit came over - I guess she got tired of stealing from people - and dumped her lunch in Clint’s lap, smiling nastily with her crooked teeth.

 

I tried to remain calm, to count to ten like the school counselors had told me a million times. It didn’t work, and I got mad. A wave roared in my ears, almost as loud as my rage. She had traumatized me and Clint all year long, and I was finally done with it.

 

I don’t remember touching her, but the next thing I knew she was in the fountain crying, “Bruce pushed me!”

 

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us. Some of the kids were whispering.

 

“Did you see-”

 

“-the water-”

 

“-like it grabbed her-” I didn’t know what they were talking about, just that I was in trouble. Again.

 

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was done making sure that “poor little Nancy” was okay, and promising to buy her a new shirt at the gift shop, etc., etc., she turned to me. “Now, honey-” she said, real sweet.

 

“I know,” I grumbled, “A month erasing workbooks.” That wasn’t the right thing to say. Mrs. Dodd’s eyes hardened.

 

“Now.” She said, “Come with me.”

 

“Wait!” Clint shouted, “It was me! I pushed her!”

 

I was stunned. Clint was terrified of Mrs. Dodds. I couldn’t believe he would try to take the fall for me.

 

“I don’t think so, Mister Barton,” Mrs. Dodd’s said.

 

“But-”

 

“You. Will. Stay. Here.” Clint snapped his mouth shut and I shot him a thankful look. He looked at me desperately.

 

“It’s okay, Clint,” I said, “Thanks for trying.”

 

“Honey,” Mrs. Dodds barked at me, “Now.”

 

Nancy smirked. I shot her my deluxe I’ll Kill You Later glared. Then I turned and followed Mrs. Dodds through the museum entrance. Mr. Brunner was too absorbed in his paperback to notice us. Mrs. Dodds was already at the end of the entrance hall, gesturing for me to hurry up.

 

How’d she get there so fast?

 

I have moments like that a lot. Where my brain sort of just shuts off and I miss things. It’s like a piece of a puzzle fell out and now I can’t find it. The school counselor says it’s normal for kids with ADHD.

 

I’m not so sure.

 

I followed Mrs. Dodds.

 

Halfway down the hall, I looked back at Clint. He was gesturing wildly, trying to get Mr. Brunner’s attention, I guess. It wasn’t working. I looked back again, and Mrs. Dodd’s was already halfway into the museum proper.

 

_ Okay,  _ I thought,  _ She’s going to make me buy Nancy a new shirt at the gift shop. _

 

Apparently, that wasn’t the plan.

 

I followed her deeper into the museum, and by the time I caught up to her we were back in the Greek and Roman section. Except for us, the gallery was empty.

 

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. There was a low growling sound, and I could’ve sworn it was coming from Mrs. Dodds herself.

 

Even without the noise, I would’ve been uncomfortable. It’s always weird being alone with teachers, like you’re not supposed to be. There was something about the way she looked at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it.

 

“You’ve been causing quite a few problems, honey,” she said.

 

I went with the safe option, “Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Did you really think you would get away with it?” She asked, tugging on the cuffs of her leather jacket.

 

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.

 

_ She’s a teacher,  _ I reminded myself, breathing shakily,  _ She’s not going to hurt me. _

 

I said, “I’ll- I’ll try harder, ma’am.”

 

Thunder shook the building. Through one of the skylights I could see black clouds. A storm was brewing.

 

“We are not fools, Bruce Banner,” Mrs. Dodds said. Her voice seemed to contort at my name. I didn’t like it. “It was only a matter of time before we found you. Confess now and you will suffer less pain.

 

I had no idea what she was talking about.

 

The only thing I could think of was if the teachers found out I’d been doing kid’s science homework for fifteen dollars a page. They were rich kids. They could afford it. Or maybe they knew that I’d gotten my essay on Tom Sawyer from the internet and they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, make me read the book.

 

“Well?” 

 

“Ma’am, I don’t-”

 

“Your time is up!” she hissed.

 

Then, the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched out and her leather jacket morphed into giant wings, like a bat. Which was a pity, because I like bats. She wasn’t human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and demon eyes. She had claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, that looked like they could all shred me to ribbons. The smell of sulphur permeated the air.

 

Then things got even stranger.

 

Mr. Brunner, who’d been outside a minute ago, wheeled his chair into the room. Clint close behind him. Mr. Brunner was holding a pen.

 

“What ho, Bruce!” he shouted and tossed the pen into the air.

 

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

 

I yelped and dodged to the side, I could feel her talons slash the air next to my ear. Right where my head had been five seconds ago. I snatched the pen Mr. Brunner had tossed out of the air, but when it hit my hand it wasn’t a pen anymore. It was a sword- My. Brunner’s sword. The one he always used on tournament day.

 

Mrs. Dodds spun to look at me, murder in her eyes.

 

My knees were jelly. My hands were so sweaty, I almost dropped the sword.

 

She snarled, “Die, honey!”

 

She flew straight at me.

 

I was terrified. I did the only thing that felt natural: I swung the sword.

 

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through, as if I was slicing through water.

 

She was like a sand castle in front of a power fan.  She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized into nothing, leaving only the smell of sulphur and a dying screech in the air, as if those red eyes were still watching me.

 

I was alone.

 

There was a ballpoint pen in my hand.

 

Mr. Brunner wasn’t there. Nobody was there but me.

 

My hands were trembling. My lunch must’ve contained magic mushrooms or something.

 

Had I imagined the whole thing?

 

I went back outside. 

 

It had started to rain.

 

Clint was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head to protect it from the rain. Nancy Bobofit was still standing in her soaking outfit from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. She snarled at me as I passed, “I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt.”

 

I said, “Who?”

 

“Our teacher. Duh!”

 

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about. 

 

She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

 

I asked Clint where Mrs. Dodds was.

 

He said, “Who?”

 

But he paused first, and he wouldn’t look at me, so I thought he was messing with me.

 

“Not funny, Clint,” I said, “This is serious.”

 

Thunder boomed overhead.

 

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he had never moved. I went over to him and handed him his pen. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding it.

 

“Sir,” I said, “where’s Mrs. Dodds?”

 

He stared at me blankly, “Who?”

 

“The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher.”

 

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned, “Bruce, there is no Mrs. Dodds. As far as I know, there has never been any teacher at this school named Mrs. Dodds. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”


	2. Three Old Ladies Knit the Socks of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! I won't update this fast for the rest of the series, it's just that it's the weekend and I have nothing better to do. As always, I do not own any recognizable characters. 
> 
> OK. So I haven't been too great at characterization, but that'll change once Bruce gets to Camp Half-Blood and Clint can be himself and we meet Tony (!!!). So, yeah.

#  Chapter Two: Three Old Ladies Knit the Socks of Death

 

I was used to the occasional odd occurrence, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty-four/seven hallucination was more than I could handle. It was like everyone on campus was playing some sort of trick on me, and they were all in on the joke. The students acted as if Mrs. Kerr - a perky blond woman whom I had never seen before she got on our bus at the end of the field trip - had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

 

Every so often I would make a reference to Mrs. Dodds. Just randomly, to see if I could trip anybody up. Usually, they looked at me like I was crazy.

 

It got so bad, that I almost didn’t believe Mrs. Dodds had ever existed.

 

Almost.

 

But Clint couldn’t fool me. Whenever I would mention the name Dodds to him, he would hesitate, then claim she didn’t exist. But I knew he was lying. Something was going on. Something had happened at that museum.

 

I didn’t have much time to think about it in the day. But at night, visions of Mrs. Dodd’s leathery wings and glowing eyes woke me up in a cold sweat.

 

The freak weather continued, which didn’t help my mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events that we studied in social studies was the unusual amount of small planes that had been blown down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

 

I started feeling cranky and irritable almost all the time. My grades slipped from Ds to Fs. I got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends. I got sent out into the hall almost every class.

 

Finally, when our English teacher Mr. Nicoll asked me why I was too lazy to study for spelling tests, I snapped. I called him an old sot. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I liked the sound of it.

 

The headmaster sent my mother a letter the following week: It was official, I would not be invited back to Yancy Academy next year.

 

Fine, I said to myself, that’s fine.

 

I was homesick.

 

I wanted to be with mom in our little apartment on the upper east side, even if I had to go to public school and deal with my stepfather and his stupid poker parties.

 

And yet. . . there were things I would miss about Yancy. The view of the woods outside my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I’d miss Clint, he was a good friend even if he was a bit strange. I wondered how he’d survive next year without me.

 

I’d miss Mr. Brunner’s Latin class, too. With his crazy tournament days and his faith that I could do well.

 

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn’t forgotten what Mr. Brunner said about the subject being important for me. I wasn’t sure why, but I believed him.

 

The evening before my exam, I got so frustrated that I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. The words were swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were on skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating Latin verbs? I had no idea what conjugating even meant!

 

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling through my skin.

 

I remembered Mr. Brunner’s grave faith, his thousand year old eyes.  _ ‘I will accept only the best from you, Bruce Banner.’ _

 

I sighed and picked up the mythology book. I’d never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could help me out. At the very least, I could apologize for the giant F I was going to get on the final tomorrow. I didn’t want to leave Yancy with him thinking I hadn’t at least tried.

 

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but the light in Mr. Brunner’s was still on, his door ajar and spilling light across the hall. 

 

I was steps away from the door when I heard the voices inside Mr. Brunner’s office ask a question. The one that was definitely Clint’s said, “. . . worried about Bruce, sir.”

 

I froze.

 

I’m not usually an eavesdropper, but when you’re best friend is talking about you to a teacher, it’s like your required to listen in on the conversation.

 

I inched closer.

 

“. . . alone this summer,” Clint said, “I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too-”

 

“We would only make matters worse by rushing him,” Mr. Brunner said. “We need the boy to mature more.”

 

“But he may not have time! The summer solstice deadline-”

 

“Will have to be resolved without him, Clint. Let him enjoy his ignorance while he can.”

 

“Sir, he saw her. . .”

 

“His imagination,” Mr. Brunner insisted, “The Mist over the students and staff will keep him from questioning it.”

 

“Sir, I. . . I can’t fail in my duties again,” Clint’s voice was choked with emotion, “You know what that would mean.”

 

“You haven’t failed, Clint,” Mr. Brunner said. “I should have seen her for what she was. Now, let’s just worry about keeping Bruce alive until next fall.”

 

The mythology book fell out of my hand and dropped to the ground with a thud.

 

Mr. Brunner went silent.

 

My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hallway.

 

A shadow slid across the glass window of Mr. Brunner’s door, a shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer’s bow.

 

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

 

A few seconds later, I heard a slow clip-clop. Like muffle wood blocks, then the sound of an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

 

My heart hammered in my chest.

 

“Nothing,” I heard Mr. Brunner say, “My nerves haven’t been right since the winter solstice.”

 

“Mine neither,” Clint said, “But I could’ve sworn. . .”

 

“Go back to the dorm,” Mr. Brunner told him, “You’ve got a long day of exams ahead of you tomorrow.”

 

“Don’t remind me.”

 

The light in Mr. Brunner’s went out.

 

I waited in the dark for what seemed like hours.

 

Finally, I slipped out of the dark room and headed back to my dorm room.

 

Clint was lying on his bed when I got there, facing away from the door and, subsequently, me. 

 

“Hey,” he said, “You gonna be ready for this test tomorrow?”

 

I didn’t answer.

 

“You look awful,” he frowned. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Just. . . tired.”

 

I turned so he couldn’t read my expression, and started getting ready for bed. 

 

I didn’t understand what I’d heard downstairs, and I wanted to chock it all up to my imagination.

 

But one thing was clear: Clint and Mr. Brunner were hiding something from me. Something about Mrs. Dodds - who did, indeed, exist. Something important. Something that could get me killed.

 

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour long Latin exam, Mr. Brunner stopped me. For a moment, I worried that he knew about my bout of eavesdropping last night.

 

“Bruce,” he said. “don’t be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It’s. . . it’s for the best.”

 

“Okay, sir.”

 

His tone was kind, but his words embarrassed me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the exam could still hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me.

 

“I mean,” Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth nervously, “This school isn’t right for you. It’s for the best.”

 

My eyes stung. Here was my favorite teacher telling me that I couldn’t do it. He was just another in a long line of teachers disappointed in me, but this time it hurt. After saying he believed in me all year, he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out.

 

“Right,” I said, trembling.

 

“No, no,” Mr. Brunner said. “Oh, confound it all. What I’m trying to say is. . . you’re not normal, Bruce, that’s nothing to be-”

 

“Thanks,” I blurted, “Thanks a lot for reminding me, sir.”

 

“Bruce-”

 

But I was already gone. 

 

On the last day of school, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase.

 

The other guys were joking around. Talking about where they were going to go over the summer. One was going skiing in Switzerland, another Cancun. Someone was going to India. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rick juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a nobody from a family of nobodies.

 

They asked me what I was doing this summer. I told them I was going back to the city.

 

“Oh, cool.” One of them said, and that was the last time they tried to include me. They went back to their conversation and forgot I existed.

 

The only person I dreaded saying goodbye to was Clint. And, as it turned out, I didn’t need to. He’d booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound that I had. So there we were, together again, heading into the city.

 

The whole bus ride, Clint kept nervously glancing down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occured to me that he always acted nervous when we left Yancy, as if something bad was going to happen. I always thought it was because he didn’t want anyone to tease him, but there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

 

“Looking for Kindly Ones?” I asked, not being able to stand it anymore.

 

Clint jumped nearly out of his seat, “What do you mean!? No I’m not. Shut up. Who told you?”

 

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.

 

Clint’s eye twitched, “How much did you hear?”

 

“Oh, not much,” I said casually. “What’s the summer solstice deadline?”

 

He winced, “Look, Bruce. . . I was just worried for you, see? Hallucinating about demon math teachers. . .” 

 

“Clint-”

 

“And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no person named Mrs. Dodds.”

 

“Clint.” I said, stopping him. “You’re a really bad liar.”

 

His ears turned pink.

 

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. “Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer.”

 

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like this:

 

_ Clint Barton _

_ Keeper _

_ Half-Blood Hill _

_ Long Island, New York _

_ (800) 009-0009 _

 

“What’s Half-”

 

“Don’t say it out loud!” he yelped, clapping his hand over my mouth, “That’s my, uhm, summer address.” I licked his hand and he snatched it away.

 

My heart kind of sank. Clint had a summer address. I guess I never really thought of it, but I guess his family was as rich as the others at Yancy.

 

“Okay,” I said glumly, “In case I want to, like, visit your mansion or something.

 

He nodded, “Or. . . or if you need me.”

 

“Why would I need you?”

 

I came out a lot harsher than I intended.

 

Clint blushed right down to his adams apple, “Look, Bruce. The truth is I. I kind of have to protect you.”

 

I stared at him.

 

All year long, I’d gotten into fights to keep bullies away from him. I’d lost sleep wondering what he was going to do without me there next year. And here he was acting like  _ he  _ was the one who had defended  _ me _ .

 

“Clint,” I said, “What exactly are you protecting me from?”

 

There was a huge grinding noise underneath us, and black smoke spilled out of the hood of the bus and the whole thing smelt like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound to the side of the road.

 

The driver came through and announced that we all had to get off. Clint and I filed off the bus with the rest of the passengers.

 

We were on a stretch of country road no place you’d notice if you didn’t break down there. There didn’t seem to be anyone around for miles. On our side of the road there was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, past four lanes of shimmering asphalt, was an old fashioned fruit stand.

 

An honest to god fruit stand with three little old ladies behind it, knitting what must’ve been the biggest socks ever. There were no customers, which was weird because the stuff on sale looked really good: heaps of blood-red cherries, walnuts, and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub filled with ice. 

 

The socks were like the size of sweaters, but they were definitely socks. They might’ve been for bigfoot, or like some guy’s giant alter-ego. That’d be kinda cool, but I’d hate to be that guy.

 

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back with white bandanas, and bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

 

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me.

 

I looked over at Clint to say something. His nose was twitching, and the blood had all drained from his face.

 

“Clint?” I said, “Hey, Clint-”

 

“Tell me they’re not look at you. They are, aren’t they?”

 

“Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?”

 

“Not funny, Bruce. Not funny at all.”

 

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors- gold and silver and long-bladed, like shears. I heard Clint catch his breath.

 

“We’re getting on the bus,” he said, “Come on.”

 

“What?” I said, “It’s a thousand degrees in there!”

 

“Come on!” He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

 

Across the road the old ladies were still watching me. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear the snip of her shears across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric blue socks, leaving me wondering what they could possibly be for.

 

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a chunk of warped metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered and the engine roared back to life.

 

The passengers cheered.

 

“Darn right!” yelled the driver. He slapped the side of the bus with his hat. “Everyone back on the bus!”

 

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I’d caught the flu.

 

Clint didn’t look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

 

“Clint?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What are you not telling me? Who were those old women?”

 

He dabbed his forehead with his sleeve, “Bruce, what did you see? Back at the stand?”

 

“You mean the old ladies? Are they. . . are they like Mrs. Dodds?”

 

“Just tell me what you saw, Bruce!” I flinched at Clint’s shout, and his eyes softened, “I’m sorry, Bruce. Just. Please, tell me what you saw?”   
  


“The. . . the middle one took out her scissors and cut the yarn. That’s all.”

 

Clint closed his eyes and made a gesture that could’ve been crossing himself. But it wasn’t, it was something older.

 

“You saw her snip the cord.”

 

“Yeah?” Even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal.

 

“This is not happening,” Clint said, “I don’t want it to be like last time.”

 

“What last time?”

 

“Always sixth grade. They never make it past sixth grade.”

 

“Clint. Clint, what happened? What are you talking about?” He was really starting to scare me.

 

“Bruce,” Clint said, looking at me seriously, “Let me walk you home from the bus station. Promise me.” I didn’t want to promise him that. He was scaring me. I promised him he could.

 

“Is this like a superstition or something?” I asked.

 

No answer.

 

“Clint, does that snipping of the yarn mean something? Clint, does it mean someone’s gonna die?”

 

Clint looked at me, his eyes mournful. He looked like he was already picking out the flowers to cover my coffin.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any recognizable characters within this series.
> 
> Some characters were not important enough to change them to someone from the Marvel Universe (Nancy Bobofit, Mrs. Dodds, Mrs. Kerr, etc.). Some characters (the gods, Mr. Brunner) retain their names from the original PJO series just because they are figures within the Greek mythos and should not be changed, regardless of me replacing main characters with my favorites from the Marvel world(s).


End file.
